


Sketches

by marbee



Series: Colliding Together [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Book 3: Mockingjay, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Gen, Hijacked Peeta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marbee/pseuds/marbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered what happened to those sketches Peeta made of Katniss on the rooftop before the Quarter Quell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketches

2 cups of warm water  
2/3 cups of white sugar  
1 1/2 tablespoons of active dry yeast  
1 1/2 teaspoons of salt  
1/4 cup of vegetable oil  
6 cups of flour

In a large bowl, dissolve the sugar in warm water, and then stir in yeast. Allow to proof until yeast resembles a creamy foam.  
Mix salt and oil into the yeast. Mix in flour one cup at a time. Knead dough on a lightly floured surface until smooth. Place in a well oiled bowl, and turn dough to coat. Cover with a damp cloth. Allow to rise for about 1 hour.  
Punch dough down. Knead for a few minutes, and divide in half. Shape into loaves. Allow to rise for 30 minutes.  
Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

I repeat those words in my head over and over again. 

I’ve been in this compact hospital room in District 13 since my rescue, since my encounter with her. That was a few weeks ago. Though anyone in their right mind would know that the hospital here isn’t the most ideal place to pass your time but they would also know that this is a step up from the Capitol hospital. Sometimes I forget that I’m not there anymore. I break out into a heavy sweat when I don’t hear Johanna’s shrieks of pain in the middle of the night, my mind goes haywire, convinced that they have finally killed her, and now I’m next. It takes the doctors and nurses a while to sedate me and remind me that Johanna and I are not longer in the Capitol’s hands. That we are in District 13 and that Johanna is safe, that I am safe. But if there is one thing that the hospital in District 13 and The Capitol have in common is that they are always watching you.

I hear a gentle knocking against my steel door, pulling me out of my solemn reverie and someone stepping lightly into my room.

“Mr. Mellark?”

I ignore her.

“Mr. Mellark?”

Maybe if I don’t respond, she will just leave.

“Mr. Mellark,” she says more curtly.

What the hell does she want? Does she want to coax me into agreeing to talking to talking to the district shrink again? I can still feel my knuckles throbbing from the last time I talked to him.

“Mr. Mellark, you have a visitor,” she says, tapping her foot on the ground.

Visitor? I have a visitor? Somehow a small, desolate part of me wishes it was her, to see her, to talk to her but then a larger, temming part of me wants to smash her head into the ground for everything she has done to me. I keep facing the white sterile wall, I don’t want her to see my internal struggle. I want to keep any small amount of privacy that I can.

“Just let me in, it won’t take long,” I hear a gruff voice demand. His voice sounded familiar.

I hear the man’s district 13-issued boots against the aseptic tile flooring. He taps my shoulder. I don’t look back at him. He taps my shoulder again.  
I keep my eyes locked on the white wall. Don't look who it is, Peeta. Just ignored him. He taps my shoulder again, a little harder this time.

“I don’t want to get aggressive with you, boy. But if I have to, then I will,” he says.

Keeping my blank face, I position my body to face him, which is difficult due to the fact that I’m handcuffed and my prosthetic is irritating my stub. Once I finally get a good look of him, I realize it’s my former mentor, Haymitch. Great.

“I know you’re not in the mood for company,” I meet his eyes, “but I found these and I thought well…” he holds out what seems to a leather folder.

I glance down to my hands, his eyes follows. Apparently he wasn't informed that I was handcuffed.

“Here,” he says as he puts out what seems to be some sketches and spread them out a little on my bed.

I glance at them and then offer my first words, “what are they?”

“Some drawings you made a couple months ago. I thought you might like them,” and as he walks out of the room he says, “or not.”

I take a better look at sketches. There of her. Her sleeping, her weaving a crown of flowers, her smiling, her in the sunset, there are even some of her eating.

I drew these?

I pick up one of the pictures of Katniss, the best I can with handcuffed hands and try to examine it. I see the care and detail I put into these drawings. She doesn't look like the monster mutation from my dreams, she almost looks lovely...beautiful even. I pick up another and another. I begin to understand how much I must have been infatuated with her, how much I really must've loved her. I start to feel a deep pang of pain in my heart. Then a flood of memories comes to mind-

After being informed that we had a free day, we order a bunch of food, grab some blankets and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat; Katniss snaps off some of the hanging vines and practices her weaving and knot tying, eventually making a crown of flowers. I sketch her, I wonder if she notices? We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof-one of us throws an apple and the other has to catch it. No one bothers us. By late afternoon, her head is on my lap. I play with her hair, using the excuse that I’m practicing my knots, but she’s smart enough to know otherwise. After a while,a thought runs through my mind and my hands go still.

“What?” she asks.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” I say.

I wonder how she’s going to respond to that. I brace myself for a crass response. I can’t feel bad for basically telling her how I feel, considering that after the Quarter Quell I’ll be dead and she will live, live her life, her life with her family, her life with Gale. Which reminds me, I need to talk with Effie about my gold token she offered to get Haymitch and I.

“Okay,” she says.

That took me by surprise. Never in a million year would I think she would agree to something so “loving” of that’s the correct word.  
“Then you’ll allow it?” I feel a smile creep on my face.

“I’ll allow it,” she replies.

And in this moment, I feel content.

Feeling overwhelmed, I hastily pick up all the sketches and place them under my pillow and face the white wall again. I don’t know what Haymitch was trying to accomplish here. All I’m left are with a mixture of heartache and longing with a tad of confusion. Is she with the other one right now? I have so many questions that I am trying to block out.

I take a deep breath and resume to what I was previously doing. I can't let my mind wander, especially when she's involved. I just can’t, even though I want to.

1 cup of warm water  
2 tablespoons of yeast  
2 tablespoons of sugar  
2 teaspoons of garlic powder  
1/4 cup of melted butter  
1/4 cup of olive oil  
3 cups of flour  
2 teaspoons of salt  
8 ounces of mozzarella cheese  
Parmesan cheese

Preheat the oven to 375º. Mix together the yeast and water and let it sit for a couple minutes. then add the sugar, garlic powder, melted butter, and oil. Add the flour a little and a time, mixing in your stand mixer with a dough hook. Add the salt.  
Knead for 10 minutes then let the dough rise in a bowl covered with a wet cloth for about 30 minutes. Then divide the dough into about 20 pieces, put about a 3/4 inch chunk of cheese in each one and make sure you pinch all the edges back up tightly. Put the pinched side down on a greased baking sheet. Sprinkle the buns with more shredded cheese and some parmesan cheese.  
Bake at 375ºF for about 11-15 minutes until the bread is golden brown and the cheese is bubbly.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little clarification, the reason why Peeta is quoting bread recipes is because I thought that would keep him sane in such a hectic time in his life.


End file.
